Page 21 of The Sleepwalker (Joona Linna #10)
The island of Laxon in the middle of the powerful Dal River is connected to both shores by four narrow bridges. At one point in time, the Svea Engineer Corps was garrisoned there, and a number of the former military buildings now form part of ?lvkarleby Youth Hostel.
In order to guarantee a bit of privacy, Pontus Bandling has booked the entire Officers’ Villa for the night, despite the fact that he and Kimberly will likely only use the bathroom and main bedroom.
The warm glow of the fire in the tiled stove flickers over the double bed, and the sweet aroma of burning birch drifts through the air.
The hostel staff have gone home for the evening, leaving Pontus with instructions to drop the key into the letterbox if he checks out before they return tomorrow morning.
He knows he isn’t the only guest; someone else is staying in the next building over. He caught a glimpse of a slim figure in one of the windows when he went out to the car to grab his bag earlier.
Delicate snowflakes had settled like a veil over his windscreen.
Pontus shoves a red Christmas tablecloth and two cushions he knows Kimberly will hate into the empty wardrobe, pours himself a glass of the whisky he brought with him and sits down in the armchair to wait.
His phone pings with a message from Kimberly. She writes that she will be with him in ten minutes, and he replies to say that he has left the door unlocked.
The fire crackles, and the wind whistles in the chimney.
Above the brass hatch on the stove, the white tiles are sooty.
Pontus lifts his glass to his lips. From the corner of one eye, he notices a movement, and he turns towards the window.
It is almost pitch black outside, but he can make out the frosty white branches of a bush beyond his reflection.
He sips from his glass, taking in the scuffed furniture, the rag rug on the worn floorboards and the strange floral wallpaper.
Through the open doorway, he can see into the bathroom, with its exposed pipework, gold-framed mirror, discoloured grout and folding shower screen.
He hears what sounds like someone opening the cabinets in the kitchen, but assumes it is just the heat causing the old studs in the walls to expand.
Outside, a car approaches and comes to a halt. The doors open, and a low male voice asks if she would like him to wait. Pontus doesn’t catch Kimberly’s reply, but he hears the man say that he can be back within fifteen minutes if she calls.
The flames surge as the front door opens, followed by the confident click of heels on the floorboards.
Kimberly pauses in the bedroom doorway, shakes her white sheepskin coat back from her shoulders and lets it drop to the floor.
Her hair is glossy and voluminous, and she is wearing red lipstick and a short silver sequin dress. Her legs are bare.
‘Did you start the party without me?’ she asks.
‘No, I’ve been waiting for you,’ he replies with a smile. ‘I lit a fire and took—’
‘I can see that,’ she cuts him off, moving forward.
Kimberly takes in the room, turning around and letting her arms swing. ‘What a shithole,’ she mumbles before meeting his eye, a contemptuous look on her face.
‘Always so beautiful,’ he says.
‘Hmm,’ she mutters as she moves over to the window.
‘Do you want anything?’
‘What kind of fucking question is that?’
‘I brought some great red wine, malt whisky .?.?.’
‘You’re kidding, right? I’ve got four hours before I have to go,’ she says, kicking off her silver pumps.
‘I’m just trying to be polite.’
‘You’re just a prude,’ she says, turning to him again.
‘That’s not true. I’m not – not with you.’
‘With your sweet little wife, though. With her jewellery that’s so expensive it looks fake, and all the botox, spandex and Wolford tights.’
‘OK,’ he says with a calm smile, setting the glass down on the table.
‘I don’t know why you don’t just fuck some life into her.’
‘We have sex. You know that.’
‘You make love.’
‘We—’
‘You make love,’ she cuts him off. ‘It’s not the same thing.’
‘You seem to know everything.’
‘I just think it’s funny to hear you defend her before you tear my knickers off.’
‘You know I’m addicted to you,’ he says, getting up.
‘Say that again.’
‘You’re like a drug, Kimberly.’
She laughs contentedly and pulls the zipper of her dress down from her armpit to her hip. One of the silver sequins drops to the floor.
‘Like coke?’ she asks.
‘Better.’
‘Crystal meth?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Crystal meth,’ she repeats with a smile.
‘Now?’
She raises an eyebrow, and he goes to fetch a brown leather case from his bag. He puts it on the table, sits down and takes out an old shaving mirror with a slim metal frame.
Out of nowhere, the feeling that someone is watching him makes him glance over to the window again. The glass is dark, but there could easily be someone standing just outside, looking in at them.
He should draw the curtains, he thinks as the image of someone drawing a sad face in the frost on the window takes over his thoughts.
‘The clock’s ticking,’ she mutters impatiently.
Pontus breaks the seal on a small glass tube, takes out the cork and taps the contents onto the mirror.
A crystalline powder the colour of wax.
He halves the pile using a tarot card, shapes it into two long lines, then gets up and hands a narrow silver tube to Kimberly.
Holding her hair back with one hand, she bends down, snorts her line and wipes her nose. Breathing heavily, she lets out a loud groan, staggers back, slumps onto the bed and curls up in the foetal position.
‘You OK?’
‘Fuck, fuck,’ she pants.
‘Kimberly?’
‘What?’
‘Are you OK?’
‘Good,’ she says with a smile.
Pontus takes the tube from her hand and moves back over to the mirror on the table. He bends down over the powdered methamphetamine and inhales.
As he straightens up, he feels a burning sensation in his nose and sinuses. The powder leaves a bitter taste at the back of his throat, and his eyes have just started to water when the drug kicks in with frightening force.
‘Christ,’ he hears himself mutter.
The hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end, and a lust-filled electricity floods through his veins as a veil of crushed ice passes over him.
Pontus gropes for something to steady himself against, slumps onto the bed and falls to the floor. His heart is racing, and he is breathing rapidly through his half-open mouth.
The first wave of euphoria is overwhelming, all-encompassing.
‘Yeah? You OK?’ she asks.
‘Almost, just give me a second,’ he says, trying to blink away the blindness.
From the almost unbearable peak, he slowly sinks to a plateau where he knows he might stay for hours.
Kimberly throws her dress to the floor and stands in front of him, legs apart, in her sheer black underwear.
Pontus gets up on trembling legs, his mind crystal clear and flash-lit from the inside. He unbuttons his shirt as he circles her with his eyes fixed on her crotch.
‘Come on, then,’ she says, backing up towards the bed. ‘Come on, for God’s sake.’
He pushes her onto the covers, pinning her down with one hand between her breasts as he yanks off her knickers with the other.
They have been married for twenty years, and have a twenty-two-year-old daughter.
Pontus is the vice chancellor of Dalarna University, and spends four days a week in Falun before returning home to Uppsala, where they have a grand apartment on the top floor of a late nineteenth-century building.
Her real name is Caroline Bandling, and she is the managing director of BC Group, a financial advisory and management company. Kimberly is simply her persona when she meets her husband at basic motels and hostels somewhere between Falun and Uppsala.